


Certain Things to Accept - Part III

by Persephone



Series: Willing to Take the Risk [14]
Category: Valentine's Day (2010)
Genre: Angst, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 21:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1443406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone/pseuds/Persephone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reception, some questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Why is it that every time I see you nowadays, you look... I don’t know. Cuter.”

Bringing his gaze down from the mannequin on the raised dais between them, he locked eyes with Elliot. “I guarantee you that’s your imagination.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” he said firmly.

Elliot lifted an eyebrow, noting his stiff stance and less than casual tone.

“Okay,” Elliot said, causally. “Just saying.”

He could have groaned. He didn’t need Elliot to start “just saying” anything. His head was still hurting from last night. And not the least because he couldn’t believe he had let issues over his dad stop him from climbing into that hot tub with Sean. 

He went on staring at the lavishly suited mannequin, for once seeing next to nothing, in clothing that he usually enjoyed, to hold his attention.

Elliot meanwhile was intently checking the mannequin’s shirt cuff.

While he’d been having father issues, Elliot, bless him, had taken up his best man duties without waiting to be asked.

Unfortunately, the styles catalogs Elliot had sent him were still unopened in his inbox, as were the ones for the wedding rings. Guilt had assured that he keep their appointment to see live versions in a boutique, but after the stress of yesterday with his father and Sean’s subsequent terror tactics at dinner, he would have gladly borne the guilt and canceled. Except that Elliot would have adamantly wanted to know why.

Sean was confusing the hell out of him. He’d told Sean he’d trust and follow him to real world emotions, but Sean was not understanding. The situation with his dad wasn’t like with their relationship. How could it be? 

With them it hadn’t been Sean he had mistrusted, it had been himself. But here he trusted his judgement perfectly. It was his father he rightly would not trust with anything resembling respect for relationships or commitments. 

Hadn’t it just been recently when he himself had been in disdain of the mere concept of a commitment? The falseness he had associated with it? He certainly hadn’t learned that kind of cynicism sitting on the bleachers in high school, drooling over the school’s football team.

And power over his dad? He was glad Sean didn’t even know the extent to which that was incredibly wrong. And any plot to put that to the test would only be inviting an extremely unpleasant jolt of reality. 

Just thinking about it made him feel like he was walking off the edge of a cliff.

Even if he did discover that he somehow did have power over his dad, he’d call him up and tell him to come take it back, especially if it meant Alastair would leave his relationship, this one that meant the whole world to him, alone.

Anyway, he thought, slipping his hands into his pockets—and somehow bumping the mannequin, which he then carefully held still—ten o’clock in the morning was too early for this particular conversation.

He raised his gaze back to the mannequin. And after catching another stolen glance at him from Elliot, possibly at his prolonged silence, he began moving unobtrusively around the dais and out of Elliot’s direct line of sight.

“No, no,” Elliot said. “No moving away. Come back here.”

He slowly moved back.

“Okay,” Elliot said. “So we’re looking at pretty much everything this morning. I know you said you still don’t have anything in mind as far as styles and colors right now,” Elliot said without a trace a judgement in his voice, which meant he was judging him. “But you can at least pick out looks that appeal to you and it’ll help whittle down the list of clothiers. We’ll know which shops to make appointments at after that.”

“Sure,” he said.

“Did you manage to construct a timeframe?”

“N-not yet,” he said, stumbling over the question. “I’m getting to it.”

“And the catalogs? Did you take a look?”

“They’re...they’re right under the last set of things I have to look at before I get to them.”

Elliot didn’t react to the nonsensical excuse. “How about the ring books? Did you at least open those?”

He squinted an eye. “Do you mean, did I open _all_ of them?”

Elliot looked at him from the other side of the mannequin. “What kind of bride are you trying to be exactly, Holden?”

“No, I’ll get to it. I swear.”

Elliot made a quiet sound of disbelief. Then, in a voice that wouldn’t be out of place in bed, he asked, “What’s the delay, anyway? Your man overworking you?”

He stifled sighed. “You have no idea.”

Elliot stilled on the other side. When he looked, Elliot was no longer inspecting cuffs and was staring at him with wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth.

“Not _that,_ ” he reporached.

“Oh,” Elliot said, disappointedly. Then, “Holden, you have got to start dishing. Seriously. It can’t always be take, take, take, you know.”

He made a face and ignored the complaining. He could no more share details about sex than he could strip naked in public. Yet his friends never ceased to ask. 

Possibly because he could listen to theirs all day...

But with his shifty answers and even shiftier legs, Elliot had smelled that something was up and was no longer taking in the suit. He had transferred his full attention to him.

He fidgeted, but it was already too late.

Elliot stepped back from the dais and sized him up. 

“Okay, Holden, what the fuck is up with you?”

“Wh-what d’you mean?”

“First of all, don’t try to play me because you do look like you’re glowing. Second, and this is troubling, in spite of the fact that you’ve agreed to go forward with this wedding, you’re acting it like it’s some kind of shaming event you’re about to put yourself through. Like it’s about to spell ruin and damnation for your relationship.”

“No, no,” he quickly corrected. “The wedding is fine.”

“And third. On top of insinuating that Sean is overworking you, which, let’s get to that later, you’re— Oh, wait. I get it now. You two are skipping the ceremony and going straight to the baby making part, aren’t you?”

“Oh, my God,” he said in abjection.

“Then what, Holden. Because after Miami I thought we were going to sit down and start crossing off to-dos. That invite list was such a raging bitch, in case you didn’t notice, and even Petey got the sweats. Yet here you are, acting like you aren’t getting married in less than four months.”

His heart was beating at the rant. Pointing at the mannequin, he said in protest, “We’re getting started on some of it right now.”

“Selecting styles for your groomswear? That’s your priority right now?”

“Shouldn’t it be?” he asked in surprise.

Elliot stared from the other side. “If you had sat down organized yourself, you would know.”

Touching a corner of the mannequin’s sleeve, he made a show of feeling the material. 

“Sean and I are just getting organized,” he said defensively. “Like you said, we just got back from Miami, and right now we’re just trying to shake off my parents.”

While he spoke, Elliot had strolled over to a table stacked with dress shirts, sat on its edge, and was now staring him.

“Uh huh,” Elliot said when he stopped talking. “And how’s that going?”

“It’s going.”

Elliot didn’t say anything, just continued staring.

“What?” he asked, unable to shake the defensiveness from his voice.

“Oh no, nothing,” Elliot said. “You’re not acting weird or anything.”

He groaned, throwing a disgruntled look at Elliot.

Elliot was silent. Letting him get his protest out, he knew. Elliot was in full attorney mode now and nothing short of a court gag order would get him off this track.

“Holden,” Elliot said softly. “What is this look in your eye?”

“There’s a look in my eye?” he whispered.

Elliot sat back, his nostrils flaring. “You wretch,” Elliot said imperiously. “You’re an alcoholic slut who doesn’t deserve an ounce of my brain power.”

He pressed his lips tight. “All true stories.”

“Something’s happened,” Elliot said in hushed tones. “And I’m dead certain that because of it you’re going forward with this wedding. Should we be happy for you?”

The question caught him off guard. 

As if waiting to ambush him all along, it seemed to float out of nowhere and land gently land on top of everything. And before he could have another thought, it pried open a roomful of questions of its own.

If Sean was wrong and he wasn’t unsure, then why did this hurt so much? Why was there so much anger and pain in his heart over questions he already knew the answers to? Why didn’t he just delete the texts?

And why, oh why, was he sitting up late at night reading them, when they only stoked his pain and confusion?

He threw Elliot a look. And he was only thinking all of this because— 

Lifting a finger, he pointed it at Elliot, who remained unruffled. “And I’m only telling you any of this because what you said about talking about my feelings for Sean took me a really long way.”

“Well, no shit.”

He dropped his gaze to the stone floor around the dais, his heart bumping so hard he didn’t have the breath to speak.

Moments passed, and all that could be heard was the muted conversation of patrons and store assistants from the boutique’s outer room. 

When he still hadn’t started, Elliot turned at the table and began looking at the shirts behind him, giving him room to parse his thoughts.

Soon, however, he found he couldn’t do it standing alone over there. He slowly walked to the other side of the from Elliot and began inspecting fabric weaves. 

While neither of them spoke, he felt his phone in his pocket like a slab of burning metal. At last he found his voice enough to say, “It was actually my dad.”

Elliot whipped a look at him. “Your dad convinced you to go forward with your mom’s wedding plan?”

He shook his head. Then he told him what had happened on the boat. In two sentences. 

Precisely what he said was, “Sean took me to see him on Hanan’s boat. And he apologized for being such a colossal jerk.”

Elliot’s eyebrows went all the way up. “What’d you mean? Did you guys have a fight?”

 _Another one,_ he silently corrected. But Elliot had never heard of the first. 

He couldn’t immediately speak, hating to death the flush that kept happening no matter what he did. He nodded.

“He said he was very sorry for a number of things,” he said, not wanting to recall anything his father had said to him. Things he hadn’t told even Sean. “Actually...for a lot of things.”

“Oh my God, Holden,” Elliot breathed.

“Don’t,” he intoned firmly. “Don’t add to the bullshit.”

“I- I don’t understand. So you don’t believe him?”

He pinned him a look across the table. “No, of course not.”

Elliot’s eyes swept his flushed face. “Then why are you—”

“A-and I just want to put it behind me. All of it.”

Elliot blinked. Then he relaxed once more on the table. “Of course, Holden,” he said smoothly. “Let’s not add to the bullshit at all. Certainly not by living in denial for even a minute.”

“Elliot…”

Elliot sighed. “To be honest, I liked our heart to heart about you getting into dirty sex better. There was just more in that one for me. Even though, God knows, I’m still waiting to reap the rewards of my efforts. But I digress. What does Sean think of all this?”

“What do you think?” he mumbled. “Sean's a saint.”

“Sean is not a saint,” Elliot said. “But he really seems to care about your family, so I’m taking it he’s glad?”

“He’s glad.”

Elliot hmm’d, then turned and began pulling back stacked shirts, taking in the selections underneath. He stared at them for a while before saying, “You know, I never did ask. What are Sean’s parents like?”

His heart gave a protesting bump inside his chest. What good would it do to even try to explain how ironic life could be.

“Are they those earthy Midwestern types,” Elliot asked. “You know, the type that make you feel right at home in their own home?Homemade cookies, hot chocolate and all that?”

He understood Elliot’s undertone. Before he’d been, he’d thoughts families like Sean’s were somehow window displays, affected and not real. Little did he know that the joke was on him.

“I wouldn’t call them earthy,” he said quietly not wanting to think about carrying trays of hot chocolates to little kids who didn’t seem to do anything but giggle and laugh. Or of smiling Jacksons with too much love in their hearts, and of one in particular who would train soft blue eyes on him and tell him that he’d support whatever decision he made... then bat them in the hopes that he would chose to make the right one. The _so-called_ right one.

Keeping his eyes on the shirts, and trying to keep emotion from his voice but failing anyway, he finished his thought in reply to Elliot’s query, “They’re just...very nice.”

And Elliot stopped pretending to look at the shirts and was now just staring at him. 

“Are you ever going to talk about what happened over there, Holden? Why you’re suddenly having emotional bonding sessions with your very unpredictable father, and why you’re all glowy just thinking about it?”

“I’m not glowing,” he said fiercely.

“You’re misting,” Elliot offered.

“Or _misting._ And I’m not ever forgetting you said that.”

Elliot sighed, shaking his head and giving him a charitable look. Then he turned and waved at the table. “Pick a range, Misty. They’re all in the right style of angst.”

He frowned at the shirts.

“Pick.”

He bent his head to the table and pretended to look at them, even less interested now than before.

New York was a couple of days away. Maybe he’d stay a day or so longer…

— 

Elliot sent him back to the office with a ton of homework. Evidently, having proven himself incapable of generating a simple todo list, he was tasked with looking at the catalogs ASAP and making his best man's duties his priority.

But after the last of their marketing executives had trooped out, he was still standing over his center table, staring down at the piles of catalogs heaped haphazardly where he had pulled from his brief.

They still seemed completely foreign to him.

This wasn’t how he was supposed to be planning a wedding.

This wasn’t him. Incapable and disorganized. In three short evenings he and his friends had tackled a guest list that would have driven some professional planners insane, after all. Yet here he was, unable to pull together even the basics.

He couldn’t seem to shift his mind into gear.

It was stuck trying not to hear Elliot’s answerless questions. And managing to flee from that, it was running itself ragged trying not to collide into anything Sean had said.

And escaping both, he was left facing the texts that grabbed at him like persistent hands.

Was he going insane? Where was the clarity he had carried with him out of Johnston, and into that meeting with his father. And even if that immediate warmth and certainty had burned off, where was his own? 

It was with slight trepidation that he heard himself answer that he had never had it.

Before he could think on what that meant, wedged beside the catalogs, the glass on his phone lit up, showing a call from Petey.

He stared at the phone with a strange, calm sense of foreboding. 

Petey had texted before asking whether he was back in town from Miami. 

Considering that Petey only texted in netspeak, a call meant a delicate and or complicated conversation. Neither of which he was up for at the moment.

He bent and picked up the phone, answering the call.

“Hi, babe,” Petey said, upbeat as usual.

“Hey,” he said cautiously. “Sorry I haven’t called back...”

“Not a problem. So listen...”

And ever skilled at delivering potentially frustrating news, Petey quickly unfolded the news. That though he knew that the whole issue of celebrating his engagement party-wise was a delicate and possibly off limits topic, but that did he remember he’d said his boss wasn’t happy about him and Sean keeping them out of the loop? What with said boss being a gay icon and all? Well, boss wanted to see him at a reception the following night.

“Please, please, please say yes,” Petey pleaded. “I told him it’s just been time-factor issues and nothing to do with you not wanting a celebration. He’s not understanding why this is an issue and I don’t want him to feel offended, and Holden, he’s feeling offended. And the fact that he’s taking the time, not to mention the interest—”

“No, it’s not a problem at all,” he told Petey honestly. “It’d be an honor.” 

Then, clearing his throat, he asked, “Hey, is my dad on the guest list, by any chance?” 

“Holden, that’s a silly question,” Petey said kindly.

Ånd so it was. Muttering his thanks, he confirmed that he’d see him at the reception. Petey effusively thanked him and quickly ended the call.  
Apparently, there was the fear that he’d change his mind.

He lowered his phone.

And meanwhile...

He stared at the catalogs on the center table. There was still this to get done.

~*~

Cecelia didn’t call back that day either.

By now he couldn’t deny that he was worried. It had been over twenty-four hours. The only prayer he had was that they weren’t about to get another public service announcement about their wedding, this time perhaps as to the time and venue of their honeymoon.

Back in from Malibu again, by day’s end he was sitting in his Navigator on Wilshire and Westwood, watching traffic pile up at the intersection.

He’d had a good day, having gotten a couple of things on his schedule started. He’d have relatively good news for Kara. But he’d spent the day thinking off and on about Alastair’s phone call.

It didn’t escape his notice that Alastair hadn’t mentioned the wedding at all. Perhaps he had just been too distraught, but it seemed to him that Alastair genuinely was more interested in his son than in power struggles. It had been a hard push to get here, but he was keeping his fingers crossed that Alastair’s focus had indeed permanently corrected. It would make going forward easier, and Holden could actually congratulate himself that he had, even if inadvertently, done his part in their agreement to talk to the Wilsons about the wedding.

Now if only he could get Cecelia to return his call...

As the light turned green and pulled forward, his car’s Bluetooth system lit up and announced a call. It was Kara.

He tapped on the answer button and said cheerfully, “Hey, Kara.”

“Good morning, Sean.”

“Calling to congratulate me on getting started on my schedule? I was at the Association offices this morning.”

“About the charity golf tournament?”

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations,” she said seriously. “I’ll move that item into the active column. Which makes your offseason schedule officially on.”

“Proud of us all,” he joked, deciding there and then to give her the not-so-great news about his schedule changes later on. “Hey listen, I got somethin’ for you and Paula.”

“Oh? Sounds interesting.”

“Well, it’s definitely promising to be. It’s my wedding invitation.”

Kara then gasped so loudly that it seemed she had choked on her spit or something she was eating. 

He listened with some concern as she frantically excused herself and hacked away from the phone. He gave her all the time she needed.

He had to wonder though, whether she had been on to something when she had said that Holden should consider going into publicity. Maybe goofiness was a natural prerequisite for excellent publicists. 

He also had an invite for Kelvin Moore, the KVLA anchor she was dating and who had given him the best TV editorial of his coming out, but he didn’t trust that she wouldn’t simply gag on her excitement and hurt herself.

“Sean, that’s wonderful news!” she cried, coming back to the line, wheezing and trying to get her breath back. 

She did so with a huge breath. “Okay,” she then said robustly. “Wonderful news. But that’s not why I’m calling.” 

She then paused, hearing herself. “Of course not, because how would I have known, when you just told me.”

“Right,” he said encouragingly.

“Right right. So the reason I’m calling is because Forbes is about to publish a piece on you in their billionaires issue and they wanted to know if we have any comments.”

“Why? I’m not a billionaire.”

“The Wilsons are.”

“Oh,” he said, staring out the windshield. “Right.” But he was still drawing a blank on what that had to do with him.

“They’re taking the opportunity of having Holden in the issue to do a profile on you. I’m looking at an advance copy right now and it’s not really anything one way or the other, though it’s definitely angled to capitalize on the glamor of your engagement.”

“Glamor, huh?”

“Well, you know,” she said, clearing her throat. “There’s public interest. And also because it’s one of their own.”

The light at the intersection of Manning changed and the lanes began to move. Slowly but surely, he was making it home in the six p.m. crush.

“Not interested, Kara,” he told her. “They can go ahead and write whatever they want. They’re a respectable business publication, so it can’t get too crazy, right?”

“I’d presume not…” she muttered. “So, no comment, then?”

“I got nothing to say to them,” he confirmed.

“Fine by me. Find the published copy in your folder as soon as it’s out. And that covers the urgent news of the morning. You’ve got interviews coming up, by the way.”

“Yeah,” he said, drawing out the word in resignation. “We need talk about that.”

He actually heard her heart skip a beat.

“Wedding plans,” he said shortly.

“Of course, Sean,” she replied smoothly. “Not a problem. We’ll talk some more at Paula’s.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Kara.”

“My pleasure, Sean. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

_There’s a thought._

But he was smiling to himself, turning into the motor court of Holden’s building. He’d do his best.

—

And when he saw the look Holden gave Soirée’s wedding binder which he had innocently set on a cabinet in the living room, he knew there would be no mention of wedding planning tonight.

Which was fine by him. Holden was having a crush at work anyway, preparing to go to New York. He had thought they would at least look over Marissa’s questionnaires, and maybe even talk about the changes they needed to make to match up both their schedules.

But all went down the drain when Holden, came out of his study for some sweet tea, still bearing the New York report, gave the binder a dreaded glance.

He knew time was short. But everything was going to be fine. It was no different than watching the clock with three minutes to go when you should be watching the field instead. There were plenty of plays left in that timeframe.

Plus, that morning when he had hit up a Players Association meeting, he had felt great seeing his buddies again. It had made him realize that it wasn’t just spring with his honey that was here, the summer of his love was coming.

So, following him into the kitchen to make him the tea, he liked it much better when Holden leaned at the entrance instead, and pretended not to be checking him out while he selected the blends.

“Sweetheart,” he said to him.

“What,” Holden replied, interestedly.

“You give any thought to what I said last night?”

Holden was silent for a moment. Then he said, “You mean about how...us spending the last four years having the best sex of my life is like my relationship with my dad? Yeah, I gave it a _lot_ of thought.”

He laughed. “And?”

“And I decided that the NFL has a lot to answer for given the truly horrible metaphors it’s permitted you players over the years.”

He smiled and only shook his head.

And while Holden purposely moved the topic from his father—teasing him as to whether he and his fellow players forwarded each other metaphors like chain email, or whether it was a mix and match kit they got at training camp, and did they ever test them on each other in the showers—he only focused on enjoying the presence of the beautiful man a few feet from him. 

He never forgot that he had once looked across a crowded room and caught a pair of deep blue eyes and had thought, _If I could only have that for one day._

Well, here he was, getting it every day. 

Pending crises be damned, he was just looking forward to getting kisses tonight. And from the look Holden was giving him, there would be no maybe laters.


	2. Chapter 2

Early evening, he was still at work, shifting through the groomswear catalogs.

It was the day before he was to leave for New York and he wanted to be able to say that he had at least done one thing.

Over the last day and a half, he and Elliot had indeed managed to cut down the style concepts. Now Elliot’s accompanying note confirmed that they had appointments at the selected clothiers, therefore he should “prioritize this package! Or else!”

The words stared at him from the law firm notepad Elliot had scribbled them on. Briefly, he eyed the note in resignation, before turning it over. When he did so he saw that Elliot had written a post script on the back: _You’re doing great, H._

He couldn’t even sigh. No, he really wasn’t.

It was also the evening of Geffen’s reception. It made him think of two things. First, that his father, whom he would no question see tonight, hadn’t texted in two days.

And that was all he wanted to think about. He could only presume that Alastair had found something else to take his attention away.

And second was last night with Sean. How Sean had cornered and kissed him, and made him laugh so much he felt bad that he was having such a good time in the shadow of not doing Marissa’s own homework. Sean had let him finish his tea, thankfully.

He was thinking, as he considered the probable talking-to he was going to get from Geffen tonight, how much Sean had changed him. So much, he sometimes struggled to remember what he had been like before saying yes to Sean asking for a commitment. 

But only sometimes was it a struggle. And only when he had kept away from Bel Air. 

What never wavered was the fact that he never wanted to go back there.

He sighed and tried to bring his attention back to his task.

Sean, speaking of which, was back in Malibu for the third day in a row. Gone to continue reading Soirée’s wedding book, ostensibly. But also to frolic in the surf to his heart’s content, he had no doubt. Like a big golden puppy.

And after seeing Sean loaded down with the package as they parted ways this morning, and still not harassing him about any of it—like whether he had actually sat down and rearranged his schedule, which he hadn’t—it had additionally motivated him to step up on his side.

He reached for his phone and texted Elliot that they were good for the appointments. They weren’t until after his return from New York, but he could do it now or start thinking up excuses for Elliot when he didn’t get to them later on. He’d just drink some coffee and focus.

Just then a soft knock came at the door. He called for whomever it was to come in.

Craig cracked the door, then entered and leaned against the wall.

“How was Miami?”

He looked up from the catalogs. Why couldn’t Elliot be more like Craig when he needed him to be? Craig had been seeing him at the office and hadn’t once pushed to find out if anything had gone down.

“Humbling,” he said.

Craig nodded. “Are those Elliot’s proposals?” he asked, indicating the glossy catalogs.

“Yeah, we’ve had a first look at some.”

“Any good?”

He quirked his lips. Then giving up, he sat back and gave Craig his full attention. “Hey, you know anything about the Geffen reception tonight?”

“Yeah, but I’m not going. I have a date.”

His eyebrows went up. Craig smiled a little.

“You started dating again?” he asked him. 

Of the four of them, Craig and he were the most alike, in that they had gone through a lot of relationships as a matter of course. But Craig had never liked doing the dating scene, even less so since he had settled down with Sean.

“Aren’t you worried you’ll get hooked by some domestic-partnership seeking twink?”

“No, I’m just doing it to get Petey upset.”

He stared at Craig. Craig actually winked at him, making him laugh.

“You’re terrible,” he told him.

“That guy _Bryan_ is terrible,” Craig replied. “Petey’ll want him to take him on a date too after he hears I’ve started wining and dining undeserving young men. Let’s see how straight Bryan feels taking some hot Mexican guy out to dinner.”

“Craig,” he said, feeling a little sorry for finance guy who saw the world in black and white. “He touched Petey’s cock in a bathhouse. He’ll take him out to dinner, no sweat.”

Then he was laughing helplessly, feeling so bad but knowing it was all true and pretty damned funny. Craig grinned and said nothing more. 

Wiping the corner of his eyes, he sighed, and still found himself looking at catalogs for his troublesome wedding.

As a distraction, and because he really didn’t have the faintest idea, he waved at the pictures of wedding tuxes.

“So what color scheme do you think would look nice for a wedding?“

“You’ll look good in blue.”

He blinked, looking back up at Craig. Craig shrugged. Then, straightening from the wall, Craig grabbed the door handle.

“Hey, listen,” Craig said softly. “Call Elliot. About tonight. Make him go with you for emotional support. Meantime I’m around, so if you need anything, just let me know.”

He blinked again. “Thanks...”

Craig left. Leaving him baffled, as he hadn’t said anything about needing support. But Craig had been oddly astute since last summer when he had been the only one of his friends to congratulate him for dropping out of the dating go-round and committing Sean.

He had no idea what Craig’s thinking was in all of it, except perhaps that the two of them had always had an affinity. 

He hoped that he would exhibit the same awareness were their places switched. As a friend, he hoped so, anyway.

He picked up his phone sent a text asking Elliot to come tonight.

 _My dad’ll be there,_ he added for clarification.

Elliot immediately texted back. _I’ll be by later, and I can’t stay for long. But I’ll definitely be there._

That was more than enough.

Tossing the phone next to him, he sank back in the sofa and slowly rubbed his forehead.

This was just what he fucking needed.

~*~

Sean was still in Malibu when he left work that evening. They were talking on the phone while he finished getting dressed for the reception. 

With the phone trapped against his shoulder—he’d gotten a Bluetooth earpiece to replace his old corded one, and what a disaster that had been—he listened to the deep, warm tones he couldn’t get enough of.

Sean was explaining that he had gone out for a swim at sunset and had unintentionally stayed longer than he’d planned.

“I forgot how the water makes the sky look lighter out than it actually is,” Sean said, laughing briefly, and self-consciously. “I should be back within the hour.”

“No, you’re not coming back within the hour,” he told him, holding up a gray tie and comparing it with another, grayer tie. Without needing to hear it in Sean’s voice, he knew Sean was missing the ocean. 

“Stay there tonight,” he said. “I’ve kept you long enough from your special love and it’s my turn to do the right thing.”

“You always do the right thing,” Sean rumbled, making him open his mouth in disbelief. “And I got only one special love, and he’s leaving for New York in the morning. I wanna hold him tonight.”

“Okay, one day you’re gonna have to introduce me to this amazing guy you’re seeing.”

Sean chuckled. “He’ll like you.”

“Okay,” he agreed, speaking around his very flattered smile. “Since you insist. I’ll stop by and give you a goodnight kiss. But you’re spending the night there. I know I’ve been a total pain over the last couple of days. Don’t tell me you don’t need a break.”

“Just get over here, Wilson. And bring that kiss with you.”

He laughed to himself. “I will. See you soon, big guy.”

—

Forty minutes later, he walked into Sean’s house and saw the evidence of Sean’s day arrayed in the living room. And very glad he was that he’d ended up having that coffee and doing Elliot’s homework.

The balcony doors were open, on what was turning out to be a breezy evening, causing some of Sean’s paperwork to flutter lightly underneath various colored folders.

Sean walked out of his bedroom, in his usual bare chested and scruffy haired state, and for one perfect moment it felt like it was one year earlier, like Sean had just returned from the season and they were about to start their love affair all over again. 

With all the seclusion and seduction, and the innocence he hadn’t realized had been their gift back then.

Sean had stopped and was staring at him from the bedroom entrance. His gaze was so centered on him that for a moment he thought he had improperly put himself together.

“What?” he asked, touching a hand to his jacket pocket. “Did I forget something?”

“You’re so beautiful,” Sean said in a rough voice, a crease actually forming in his brow.

He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He just shook his head at Sean. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

Sean left the entrance and came up to him until they were inches apart, then slowly began pushing the back of his fingers into his stomach. The action made him tighten and he almost took Sean’s hand.

“Don’t start anything,” he whispered at him, nose to nose and almost mouth to mouth. He moved his mouth off him so he wouldn’t be breathing on him and excite them both. “I have to be out of here in five minutes.”

Sean didn’t appear to be listening. And Sean being shirtless, he had to not listen to his own clamoring body. Sean was slowly unbuttoning his jacket, doing it so smoothly, and he was so caught in the look in Sean’s eye that he wasn’t aware that he was on his way to being undressed until he felt Sean’s fingers against his belt buckle.

He took Sean’s hand and brought it, along with the other one, around his waist. Sean stepped closer, pressing himself against him, and muttered that he needed that kiss. He gave it to him. A kiss that was meant to be purely for their love, to tide them over until they could meet again in a few days, quickly turned humid and nearly obscene, featuring lots of tongue and a sudden struggle around their hips. He took a long breath and made himself stop when he became aware that he was digging into Sean’s ass and about to go lower.

He relaxed his fingers and turned his face away, letting him as Sean tightened his embrace around him and burrow underneath his jaw and nearly bake him alive in his heat. He just had to let him finish and then congratulate himself on meeting David Geffen with a raging erection.

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” he groaned. “I can’t go out in public like this.”

Sean thrust his tongue underneath his jawbone, making his tilt his head back and grit his teeth.

“Just give me five minutes,” Sean mumbled, pulling back enough to look into his eyes. “I think I know what to do about this.”

“I can’t be late for this,” he said hoarsely, but he was talking to the top of Sean’s head and holding his arms. His belt this time seemed to undo itself and leave him trembling as his zipper followed suit. His trousers loosened, fell over Sean’s waiting hands, he was rubbing his hands into Sean’s hair before he knew it. 

Sean's tongue was out, his face in the slit of his boxers, and had found his shaft and was stroking his lips over him even as his voice shook with his instructions to him. In short seconds he was gasping words down at him, holding himself upright on a body on the verge of collapse. He flexed his fingers, gripped a tight handful of hair and through a glaze as Sean pumped his lips over his cock, then used his trousers to hold him as he licked his head until he shuddered, then began giving him what he wanted. 

Sean moaned as he caught each spurt, licking his lips, licking him, then, as he peaked, and the last of his convulsions passed, wrapping his arms around his hips and drawing him close. Sean turned his face into his boxers and began kissing his softening cock, as if it was over all too soon, yet had received from it just what he wanted. He dropped his head, compulsively stroking Sean’s jaw, watching helplessly as his fingers were going crazy in his beard and around his mustache, along the curve of his mouth. 

Sean gave him one last, soft kiss, before running his fingers along the insides of his thighs, checking, he knew, for any wet spots, then slowly straightened up from the floor.

He let his hands fall from his shoulders, down to his hips, then pressed his head into his temple. Sean stood silently. When he had caught his breath enough to stand on his own, he pulled back and met Sean’s eyes, blinking a few times.

“Thanks,” he croaked, and it was all he could think to say.

And nearly died when Sean blushed.

“You’re welcome,” Sean told him softly, watching him as if he hoped for a kiss and the words, “I’ll call you.”

He gave him the kiss, dropping it on his pretty mouth, and finally, at last, stepped back from him. Sean reluctantly dropped his hands from his waist.

He was at the door before Sean seemed to come back to himself.

“Where’re you going anyway, sweetheart?”

Hand on the door knob, he turned and looked at him. He told him.

Sean’s eyes were steady in the evening lights. They both knew what was coming next.

“Is your dad going to be there?”

“More than likely,” he quietly replied.

And then he remembered what, in the midst of so much going on, he’d kept forgetting to ask Sean.

“Has my mother called you yet?”

Sean shook his head.

It was hard to determine Sean’s take on it. Sean wasn’t giving anything away.  
And he wasn’t about to ask. He was tired of his parents being a cause of argument between them.

“I’ll call you in the morning before I leave for the airport.”

“I’ll miss you every minute.”

“Sleep tight, Sean.”


	3. Chapter 3

The reception was being held at the Montage in Beverly Hills, glittering guests still arriving under the lights at the valet. And when he entered the lobby was told where to go, he was was relieved discover that it was happening in one of the hotel’s interconnecting private dining rooms. A perfect set up for if he needed to get away but couldn’t actually leave.

The party was being hosted by a law firm representing Geffen’s foundation, a firm on the short list for handling Sean’s foundation when he finally switched on the lights there. He hadn’t yet, simply because he wasn’t about to start a venture Sean and he would be publicly steering when there was still so much strife around them.

As if to underline the point, the first person he saw when he entered the dining room was his father.

Right, so this time there would be no keeping him off kilter all night before making an appearance, like on Hanan’s boat.

His father was standing in a small clutch of his business friends, and to his surprise, looked devastated when he simply walked past and took the first connecting door he came upon.

What the hell had he expected, that he would go over there and invite more embarrassment on himself? 

He found himself in an almost identical room standing in the midst of chattering groups of guests. Locating waitstaff as fast as possible, he asked for some food and a seltzer water, then turned as someone called his name. A couple of footsteps later he was in the midst of a flurry of hellos. 

The reception being for the foundation’s many financial directors, though they were the purse holders of the wealthy, their relatively serious, low-key personas made a good backdrop for the fact that he wanted this entire evening to be muted. There was too much going on inside him for him to be around other people at all, but at least it could be quiet.

Suddenly, Petey, probably on the lookout for him, was standing next to him, wrapping an arm around him as he stretched up to kiss his cheek.

Mouth close to his ear, Petey whispered, “Thank you, thank you.”

He turned a pointed look at him and whispered back, “You need to stop acting like I’m on the run.”

“Well, you _were_ going to cancel your wedding,” Petey continued whispering, his tone unchanged. “Now come with me. Boss is here. Hi, hello,” Petey continued apace in normal tones. “Excuse us, everyone.”

Petey turned to leave, and he saw the server return with his carbonated water and a plate of crab wontons. He grabbed both and thanked him and followed Petey out of the room.

They were headed for the patio by having to go back into the main room, making their way around guests excitedly saying hello to him. 

It wasn’t until they were almost outside that he realized that many of their gazes were focused his left hand, their eyes foraging for his engagement ring as he passed. He heard whispers of “Is Sean here?” again and again, but he merely finished his wonton and kept on Petey’s tail. 

The party was of course also well attended by the usual Bel Air crowd. Geffen couldn’t have breakfast without drawing a crowd. And a lot of guests from his mother’s cocktail parties last year were also in attendance. 

He was pretty sure they could all agree that the cocktail parties hadn’t been much more than spectacles to display Sean. He didn’t think half of the guests had even registered that they had been engaged. And if they had, that it would actually last.

Now though, with their wedding a public fact, he got the sense that a lot of them didn’t know what to make of any of it. And in true form, no interest in asking enlightening questions of it. It was more fun to just...bet for or against.

He hadn’t finished having the thought when an older lady he knew to be on a board with his mother, one of her heiress cohorts, stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Holden, darling, so nice to see you again.”

He returned her greeting and asked after her health. She waved his words aside and leaned in slightly.

“Dear, where’s Sean? Why isn’t he here?”

The directness of the question stalled him, making him genuinely want to ask her what it mattered.

“He’s indisposed,” he said, pleased at his composure but disliking the thought that he might have to do this all summer. “He has a schedule to keep.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Even when he’s not playing— professional sports?”

He almost found her inability to say “football” amusing.

He nodded, touching her hand.

Then from the corner of his eye he caught sight of his father, still in his small group not too far from him.

His father’s eyes were on him, but when they made brief eye contact Alastair only gave him a flash of a half smile before reverting to a hard to read expression.

The upset look was nowhere to be seen. 

And maybe he had only wished to see it.

He brought his attention back to the lady and told her that it was nice to see her again and pointed toward Petey, who had stopped a few feet from the patio doors and was smiling at them.

The lady nodded, ushered him along with a wave and a disapproving look. He went after Petey, and when they came to the patio doors he went through without a second glance at this father.

—

Geffen was congenial, but typically direct and succinct. He admonished him, first, for neglecting to hire a media relations firm to manage “the public facing aspects” from day one. And congratulated him, second, on Sean being a fantastic catch.

“I know Alastair is completely _baffled,_ ” Geffen said, offhandedly.

Petey was standing at his left, smiling professionally between him and his boss. Geffen was flanked by two stunning thirty-something men who, like Petey, looked like models, but unlike Petey, had no expressions on their faces.

He gestured evasively in response to his father’s supposed reaction to Sean. 

“So what exactly is going on?” Geffen asked quizzically. “How’s your family managing this? Petey insists I can still be of help, but really, what can one do at this late stage?”

Petey made an “Oh, David,” kind of gesture, as if Geffen was being modest, though he was sure contained was more the right word. Geffen’s name defined popular media.

When he discreetly glanced at Petey though, Petey was very minutely shaking his head. But Petey needn’t have bothered trying to steer him correctly; he wasn’t about to reveal that no one, especially not his family, was “managing” anything as personal as his engagement.

“I don’t have a firm engaged,” he told Geffen evenly. “Sean’s— we’re both very private about— all of it. But we’re certainly open to friends... well, to friends wanting to be a part of...”

But Geffen was shaking his head. So he stopped talking.

“Holden,” Geffen said tiredly. “Who’s more private than me? Really, I want you to take a minute and think about it. I’d rather have my teeth pulled without getting doped up first than do a single publicity interview. But when I must, I absolutely do.”

He nodded, actually listening very carefully.

“You’re the son of Alastair Wilson. You’re gay, and you’re having an openly gay relationship with one of the biggest stars in the NFL. The one who came out of the closet in Alpha Male World rather than face losing you.”

Geffen quietly sighed, and the three pretty men surrounding him, led by Petey, did an imperceptible shift, closing tighter around him.

“Look, I know that when it’s your own life it seems...humdrum,” Geffen continued. “And I know when you’re young you want to treat everything with blasé. But I assure you this situation is quite the opposite. Didn’t you follow the madness on the internet your going to Iowa caused?”

“I, uh, I did— yeah,” he said vaguely, not making eye contact with Petey. He’d been kept up to speed, was more like it.

And he was quickly going through the things that had blown up over him going to Johnston — the Twitter thing, the photos that showed up from Bootleggers, bonfire night... Anne and Wil’s Super Bowl cookout...

“The internet _loved_ it. And I’ll be honest with you, I have no idea what exactly goes on on the internet, but it’s clear that people want to know. This is an incredible opportunity not only for Sean’s career—I mean, you can _not_ underestimate superstardom—but it’s an opportunity also for the entire LGBT cause. Activists can talk themselves raw, but one image of your darling love in pictures— which one was it that got so many—” Geffen turned to Petey. “What do you call it?”

“Hits,” Petey said tidily. “And it was the one with the sheepskin and the fire and the families.”

“That photo did more for equality that a hundred pundits arguing about it on CNN. So have you done a single press interview with him since his coming out?”

Stuck on Geffen not knowing what hits were, it took him a moment to hear the question. And when he did, for possibly the first time in a long time, he drew a complete blank.

It had never occurred to him to do press with Sean. And certainly, not last year when he was struggling against his decision to commit.

He thanked God he wasn’t the easily embarrassed type.

Geffen didn’t look surprised by his lack of answer. “Who killed last summer’s debacle with the Family Research Council?”

“Holden did,” Petey smartly replied. “Amazingly.”

Now he really couldn’t look at Petey, feeling almost unbearably awful because he had kept his friends away during that entire period, fearing so many things. Yet his friends had done their best to keep up with what was happening to him.

Petey wasn’t looking at him either, but smiled in a way that was meant for him to see that there were no hard feelings.

“Well, that was handled beautifully,” Geffen said. “My publicity people were all wanting to hire whoever was behind it. So why the lack of a media presence this time around?”

He couldn’t immediately reply around the slight constriction in his chest. Everything Geffen was calling him out for, he had slammed against Sean last summer. Now, here was something else he needed to go back and congratulate Sean for. Being able to survive an external mess when inside you, there was so much to straighten out.

Geffen had turned to Petey. “I don’t know, what are we doing? Are we to deal with Alastair on this?” Then, inquisitively, back at him, “You say you’re handling it?”

“Yes,” he said, as firmly as he could, trying desperately to picture what a publicity campaign for a private wedding might look like.

“We’re handling it,” Petey corrected, stepping forward with a camera-ready smile. “Which is why Holden agreed to come tonight. Right, babe?”

He quickly nodded, pulling a smile across his lips and making sure it stayed there.

“Okay...” Geffen said, with unsure finality. “So we’re gonna do this.” 

Then, probably at the look on his face, Geffen looked straight at him, and said gently, “This isn’t a death sentence, Holden.”

He took a quiet breath and gave him a wide smile. “No, of course not, David.”

“What it is,” Petey said happily, “is spectacular.” Slipping his arm around his waist, Petey suggestively leaned into his shoulder. “And might I say delicious. I mean, look at him, David. Are he and Sean are tailor-made for this or what?”

Geffen swept him a loaded look. “I’ll say.” Then he laughed. “Listen to me. I’d better get of here before Alastair clips my wings. Keep in touch, Holden. My best to Sean, and tell him shame on him for never having visited an adoring neighbor. We’re less than five minutes from each other.”

He nodded, while Geffen made as if to move away, but wasn’t. Leaving him confused.

Then from the corner of his eye he caught Petey imperceptibly tilting his head toward Geffen.

Snapping out of his fog, he quickly stepped forward and repeating his thanks, kissed Geffen on one cheek, then the other.

“Ach, Holden,” Geffen drawled, rolling his eyes. Then he did move away, taking his stern-faced hotties with him.

While he watched the trio move toward the dining room doors, Petey excitedly grabbed his arm. 

“You were _great,_ Holden. I think this is finally happening! It’s gonna be such an exciting summer!”

Petey’s words brought him back down to earth, and he turned and looked at him, and couldn’t help but think about Geffen’s own relationships. 

Geffen was gay and his father was straight, but... Wasn’t that all there was to differentiate?

No, actually, from what he understood, Geffen’s relationships lasted slightly longer.

That quiet, no-frills voice inside him then piped up. It asked whether these were the people he should trust with what he wanted, what he had with Sean. 

Geffen meant well, but wasn’t he being asked to throw open doors the marked private on his relationship? It wasn’t going to end with one party. It was going to start with that.

He took Petey by the arm, moving him aside. “Petey—”

“Hey, Holden. Hi.”

He looked over his shoulder at who had spoken, and so gravely, and was surprised to see Stuart, an ex of his, standing behind him, a drink in hand.

“Hi,” he said slowly, turning around. 

Petey made a swift, unknowable gesture, and just as quickly vanished into collection of guests on the patio. Stuart stepped forward and took his place.

“Good to see you again, Holden,” Stuart said, his eyes fastened on his face.

For a moment he thought Stuart might be there to query about using his law firm for Sean’s foundation, a discussion he had anticipated having at some point tonight. 

But as he returned his greeting and left an opening for him to get into it, Stuart only gave him an overly amiable smile.

And unless he was seeing things, it was a smile tinged with...too much friendliness.

“You look unbelievable,” Stuart said in hushed tones, almost stepping back to take him in head to toe.

Becoming confounded, he merely thanked him. 

“I hardly ever saw you without a tie,” Stuart continued, as though they were having a conversation. “You look... so... And your hair. Is it a little longer?”

“Y-yeah. Um—” 

He stopped, short for words and more than a little thrown off. His hair he had stopped doing more than having it trimmed because of Sean’s obsession with its length, and his cocktail suit he was wearing a more casual configuration of because he had seen what it had done to Sean’s libido a few weeks ago.

None of which he had been prepared to have an ex boyfriend, someone he had woken up one morning and broken up with, for no reason that he could recall beyond that there simply hadn’t been any reason to carry on, make intimate comments on.

“I just— thought I’d try something else,” he finished distractedly.

Stuart nodded very receptively. “It looks great on you. Both things.”

He nodded his thanks. And Stuart stood there and nodded back stiffly, smiling at him and holding his drink as though it were a prop. 

And he still didn’t immediately figure out what was going on. 

Until Stuart’s eyes flicked and seemed to catch, and he noticed why Stuart had pinned his gaze so securely on him. Why Stuart didn’t seem to want look lower than his upper half.

There had been a brief flicker of confusion the moment Stuart’s eyes had gone to his left hand.

It was gone instantly, and Stuart was asking him if he couldn’t get him something stronger to drink.

He said no, asked him how was work, and Stuart enthusiastically told him it was great, mentioned some of the work they had done for Geffen that year, then there was a lull.

In that silence, Stuart took a sip from his tumbler. With his eyes squarely on him.

He took a sip of his own carbonated water and just stared back.

“It was all right between us, wasn’t it, Holden?”

The question, quietly put, caught him unawares, and left him completely without a reply.

Stuart smiled self-consciously. “I’m sorry,” he said politely. “I don’t mean to be weird about it. I guess it’s just... you know. I just wanted to say... well, you know.”

But he didn’t know. At least he didn’t know why Stuart acting so strangely about a breakup from well over three years ago.

Stuart gave him a last, regretful look. “Sean’s a lucky guy,” Stuart said quietly. Then he tilted his tumbler ever so slightly, as if to acknowledge defeat. “See you around, Holden.”

He stared into the fizz in his glass as Stuart walked away, confused for quite sometime, until, at last, he got it.

—

He and Stuart had had a passable relationship. Stuart had been one of those his partners who had wanted to meet Alastair, and he had had no issue introducing them. After showing a great deal of respect for his father, when the relationship was over Alastair had made a phone call, and one morning a few weeks later an offer had arrived for the job of Stuart’s dreams. 

When Stuart had called and left him voicemail telling him about it, he had texted back congratulating him and suggesting that he take it.

Stuart, insistently, had called back and he had taken the call, and Stuart told him, perhaps to come fully clean, that Alastair had grilled him about their relationship. At first Stuart had been freaked out, terrified that he was about to get blackballed for something he wasn’t aware he had done. It had been nothing of the sort, of course. 

Stuart had sworn to him that he hadn’t told Alastair much. He had told him it wasn’t a problem at all. 

What he hadn’t told Stuart was that he could congratulate himself for now being in a long line of many, including Alastair’s own exes. But there had been no need. Stuart had discovered soon enough.

His relationship with Stuart had been perfectly fine, private. Yet he had known that it would ultimately end up a portfolio on his father’s desk. He could have done more to keep it from becoming a family matter. But the truth was that before Sean, he had unquestionably been an accomplice in his family’s way of handling outsiders.

It had never occurred to him that he could feel anything beyond mild interest, a spark of excitement, and he had felt that as long as he ended it civilly and amicably, he had done no harm at all.

Stuart, obviously now, hadn’t felt that way. 

Just as Elliot had pointed out regarding sex with his previous partners, it had never occurred to him that there could be anything deeper. More intimate.

Now he stood facing the carved stone wall overlooking the city, staring as far as he could see in the direction of the ocean.

So, now he had to ask himself.

If he could change regarding things so fundamental, couldn’t his father as well?

He didn’t know anymore. He’d be lying to himself if he said that he did. But this was not a state that he was comfortable with.

At thoughts of Sean’s family he felt love and affection. At his own he felt pain. And there was a good reason for that. Even without the primer of Stuart’s appearance his memory was easily flooded with too many cold hard decisions that had been taken by his family. And having been a willing participant all his life he couldn’t now fool himself into thinking that he didn’t know how it worked. 

He would be foolish to make that mistake. He would be too stupid for words.

And yet...

And yet that pathetic part of him, that part that...secretly yearned to read his father’s texts, and persisted in seeing a possible future, kept insisting that what if...

His father hadn’t sent a text in two days, and seeing his state inside the dining room, he could tell why.

So what if.

Petey suddenly swept up beside him, bearing a bewildered and worried looking Elliot.

Petey quickly updated Elliot on the result of the conversation with Geffen, which was that they were “going to be spinning the hell out of Holden’s wedding,” and then hurried away again, leaving Elliot standing beside him with his expression compressing into a frown.

Then Elliot, facing him, turned and looked over his shoulder as if at something back in the dining room he wasn’t quite sure he had seen.

He only watched him, his heart beating a little stronger.

“You ran into him?” he quietly asked Elliot.

Elliot slowly sat on the stone railing, still staring around the guests.

“Yeah,” Elliot said slowly. “We just finished talking.”

“What did he want?”

“He asked how the best man duties were going.”

“Oh...”

“He seems...really different.”

He turned and looked at Elliot. “How?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to say.” Elliot was still staring toward the dining room. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

“Like how?” he asked hoarsely.

Elliot looked at him, then slowly shook his head. “I guess I’ve just never seen him...worried.” 

Elliot kept his gaze on him. “Holden, this is very... this isn’t you two’s normal bickering. If something has happened between the two of you, I can’t agree that he’s playing innocent just to get you back under him. He seemed distressed.”

He was having problems keeping his thoughts together, from falling to pieces each time he tried to follow them in a line.

He was looking at his friend’s concerned eyes, but his heart was beating for his lover. For the only man who had cut through so much crap to get to the real him. Tonight he ached for him in a way he couldn’t distill into words. And all he wanted was to be with him.

“Can we talk about this in the morning?” he pleaded. “I... I have to get out of here.”

“You and Craig are going to New York in the morning. But I understand. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you out.”

“Don’t worry about it. Petey’s still trying to get me to come over to the dark side, so he’ll be introducing me to some lawyers from the foundation.” 

Elliot watched him compassionately before reaching over and touching his arm. “Go home to your guy. You look like you could use a little of what he gives.”

He set his glass down, thanking Elliot, and casting a look toward the dining room.

“There’s a side exit by the patio wall,” Elliot told him, pointing in the direction. He nodded and headed that way.

—

He thought he was having an incredible dream when Holden woke him up by crawling into bed behind him. But he turned his head and Holden was there, wrapping his arm around his waist and pulling close to him. Holden was still fully dressed from the reception, with only his shoes missing as his stockinged toes rubbed his feet.

He was about to come fully awake, the lights on the water and the sound of the dark surf beginning to break through to him, but Holden started kissing the back of his ear and brushing the tip of his nose against it. It was a caress guaranteed to put him right out, and he locked his hand over Holden’s and tucked it into his side.

He went back to sleep knowing that whatever Holden had come back up to Malibu for, it wasn’t to talk.

Holden pressed his lips to his skin, let out a breath, and was completely silent. 

~*~


End file.
